I'm a patient, all I see are the other bodies in their distant beds and the clinical clerks, expressionless, cold, robotic. Its a dark and musty ward, the beds are damp with sweat and as unpleasant as the food. The smell is odourless now, it doesn't change. I don't remember being admitted to this hospital, all I know is that I'm here now and I can't get off this bed. Every second night, I get cleaned by a nurse. Her features make her unsexy, I can't actually tell if she has features. My brain is numb, my vision milky. I can't feel my feet. Theres no TV thank goodness, seeing what the outside is like would br a cruel torture in such a lifeless place, no other patients to talk to, just a restless sleep. Its interrupted by hints of dreams and the cleaning staff. Why do they bother keeping this place clean? It's a thankless task. There is no music here. There are no sounds other than the clanging of bed pans, no birds happy outside. Just the odd cry for help or the choking on phlegm. Where is the sun? Where is the warmth? Where are the pretty nurses, bosoms the size of their hearts and smiles to wash away any misery? Maybe they take the nursing jobs worth it... Everyday I lie here and pity my life. Never did I think of actually doing anything about it. I'm knee deep in my own apathy and haven't bothered to stand. All I need is that providing and prehistoric spark.

Her name is Michelle. She radiates care, a great listener, even if no-one in the ward can speak. She makes me want to be better so I can see what she's like outside of this farm for self-pitying fools. She's always prompt. Even the food she presents just tastes so much better. In the morning she brings a fresh cup of coffee, that type of coffee that you can smell when you sip it. Its always the same routine that one can never get bored of, 8AM, shes got a tray of breakfast with that special coffee. She leaves it at the foot of my bed, just long enough for that aroma to drift towards me, outside of hands-reach. She motions towards the window and with great finesse opens the blinds and the pane. A fresh breeze, thats her. Every morning I try lift myself up in the bed and pull a smile, a smile through the struggle. She is my drug, and I'm here till she runs out or I escape myself.